


Truth in Sight

by tastewithouttalent



Series: Nothing in the World [11]
Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Bondage, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Living Together, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-14 13:04:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17509130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "'I’m not going to go through all the trouble to blindfold you only to have you pull it off as soon as my hands are tied.'" Izaya lays claim to Shizuo's vision and Shizuo lays claim to everything else.





	Truth in Sight

“Ow,” Shizuo half-laughs, his head tipping back as Izaya pulls at the loose ends of fabric in his hands. “You don’t need to be so rough with it, it’s just a blindfold.”

“Uh huh,” Izaya says with as much sarcasm as he can fit on the sound. “I’m sure you’d like me to believe that. I’m not going to go through all this trouble only to have you pull it off as soon as my hands are tied.”

“ _My_ hands aren’t,” Shizuo points out without lifting either from where he has them draped over his lap. “I could just untie the knot as soon as you let me go.”

“That’s why I need to make it tight,” Izaya tells him.

“I don’t think that’s going to make much of a difference.”

“Be quiet,” Izaya says, and pulls harder at the knot set into the tangle of Shizuo’s hair. “Or I’ll make it even tighter.”

Shizuo laughs. “As you command.”

“That’s more like it.” Izaya adds another loop to the knot, just for good measure, before he takes the loose ends and tucks them up into the fabric pressing close around Shizuo’s eyes. His palms press against the fabric, his touch slides in and around to cup the dark of the cloth over the other’s vision. “What can you see?”

Shizuo shakes his head under the touch of Izaya’s hands. “Nothing, of course.” He lifts his hand from his lap to touch his fingertips against the angle of the other’s wrist. “Am I supposed to guess who you are now, too?”

“I hope you haven’t forgotten _that_ quickly.” Shizuo’s hold curls in around Izaya’s wrist to lift the other’s touch away as he twists around towards the other; there’s a smile at his lips as he turns, a curve of amusement that Izaya can’t help but echo. “Can’t you recognize me if you don’t see my pretty face?”

“I don’t need to see to know who you are.” Shizuo turns around entirely, shifting against the bed until he’s kneeling before Izaya sitting behind him; when he reaches up and out his fingers bump against Izaya’s shirt before sliding up to press over the other’s shoulder. “You still sound like you.” His hold at Izaya’s wrist eases and slides to trace against the length of the other’s fingers one after another; Izaya lets his hand go slack in surrender to the weight of Shizuo’s touch. Shizuo’s fingers drag across his palm, tracing over the lines there before pausing over the thin skin just over the inside of his wrist like he’s counting the rhythm of Izaya’s pulse thudding under the skin. “You feel the same.” He leans in close, ducking his head like he’s following some instinct in the absence of his blindfolded sight. Izaya tips his head to the side as Shizuo’s hair brushes against his cheek, his lashes dipping against the huff of an inhale Shizuo draws from the side of his neck. “You smell the same.”

“My monster,” Izaya says, the word coming with heat enough to give him away even if the expression on his face is hidden by the dark wrapping around Shizuo’s eyes. “I still can’t believe you know what I _smell_ like.”

“I do,” Shizuo says, without any indication of the embarrassment he once would have shown. His nose presses up into Izaya’s hair; when he next takes a breath it’s just under the line of Izaya’s ear, like he’s trying to breathe in against the delicate skin under the fall of his hair. “I love the way you smell.”

“So you say,” Izaya says. He lifts his hand to catch against the back of Shizuo’s head and press his palm against the knot in the fabric wound in amidst the other’s hair as his angles his head to the side to make the offering of his neck clear. “I suppose you’d recognize me by taste too?”

“Mm,” Shizuo hums. His lips are close enough to Izaya’s skin that the vibration purrs down the other’s spine to shudder heat into the depths of his stomach. “I’m not sure.” His fingers slide up to cradle the back of Izaya’s head in a hold as gentle as it is unbreakable; Izaya doesn’t try to pin Shizuo in place as the other draws away from him. He doesn’t think it’d be successful anyway. Shizuo’s grinning, the white of his teeth brilliant in comparison to the dark of the blindfold Izaya has wrapped around his eyes; with the downward tilt of his head he looks wild, like an animal following instinct more than thought. “Let me see.” He lifts his other hand from his idle brace against the sheets under them and up; his fingers fumble across Izaya’s cheekbone for a moment before he orients himself and draws down, his touch skimming the other’s face like he’s following a map. Izaya takes a breath as Shizuo’s fingers brush against the curve of his lip; the other’s touch follows his mouth to the corner to settle there, as if he’s grounding himself before he leans in. Izaya watches Shizuo come in, tracking the other’s approach without rocking back against the support at his hair; it’s only as Shizuo lifts his head to press their mouths together that he lets his lashes flutter shut in surrender to the friction. Shizuo’s hand draws down to press at the side of his neck, the touch of his palm warm against the skin there, and Izaya parts his lips as quickly as Shizuo opens his mouth to lick against the other’s. There’s a long moment of familiar heat, of Shizuo tasting his lips and mouth and tongue; by the time he draws back and away Izaya’s heart is beating faster and he can feel himself starting to go hard against the weight of his pants.

“Yeah,” Shizuo says, almost growling the word against Izaya’s mouth. “You taste like you too.”

Izaya presses his lips together and swallows to smooth his voice out of audible huskiness before he speaks. “My mouth does, anyway.”

Shizuo huffs an exhale in a soft, silent laugh. “Is that an offer?”

“A recommendation.” Izaya tightens his hand at the back of Shizuo’s head and tilts his shoulders back to arch himself into deliberate appeal, even if the aesthetics are lost on Shizuo’s covered eyes. “I didn’t plan on you having all the fun yourself.”

Shizuo makes a sound far in the back of his throat that falls equidistant between a growl and a laugh. “Well then,” he says. His hand drops to the dip of Izaya’s spine, his fingers trail against the line of the other’s back to press in hard against his shirt; when he leans in Izaya lets himself tip backwards in answer to give up the weight of his body to the touch of that hand. “I think I’ll take you up on that.” He lets Izaya’s hair go to reach out and brace himself over the bed; when he leans forward it’s to topple them both over the sheets, his hand smoothing Izaya’s descent into grace instead of a fall even as his shoulders come in to pin the other down over the bed.

It’s exciting to have Shizuo blindfolded, Izaya decides. The process of getting undressed has become a routine, repeated often enough with desperate speed or casual routine or slow seduction that Izaya hardly has to think of it, even when he’s stripping Shizuo of the complexities of his usual uniform. But Shizuo’s movements are slowed by his lack of sight, his touch clumsy and uncertain until he orients himself, and the care of the contact makes Izaya’s skin glow with heat as if he’s discovering the response of his own body for the first time as Shizuo maps him with wondering fingers. He’s breathing hard by the time Shizuo is hitching his shirt up over his chest, his heart pounding out of all rationality in answer to the simple fact of stripping his shirt off the heat of his skin, and Shizuo’s hands are hardly helping as they trail up to mark out their path as he moves.

“You’re so tense,” Shizuo remarks, murmuring the words into the shadows he’s casting between the both of them as his fingers slip up Izaya’s ribcage, as his thumb skims in just under Izaya’s nipple. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Izaya huffs a breath and rolls his eyes with drama enough that he feels Shizuo should be able to sense the response even without being able to see it. “No,” he deadpans. “I want to stop immediately, this is the worst idea.” He kicks a foot out against the mattress to brace himself so he can rock his hips up and against Shizuo’s knee bracing between his thighs; Shizuo gusts an exhale at the press of Izaya grinding hard against him, but Izaya’s hissing a breath of heat of his own hot enough to rustle against Shizuo’s hair. “Unhand me at once, you monster.”

“I was just asking,” Shizuo says. His hands press up and around, his fingers skimming the line of Izaya’s shoulderblade as he urges the other’s shirt up towards his head. Izaya lets his grip on Shizuo’s hair go to lift his arms and arch his shoulders up so Shizuo can strip his shirt off; Shizuo tosses the shirt aside to topple to the floor before he reaches back out to ground himself at Izaya beneath him. His fingers bump Izaya’s hair and the line of his jaw before sliding in and down to frame the other’s face in his hands as he leans back in. “You’re not usually this tight-wound this fast.”

“You’re not usually feeling your way against my body,” Izaya tells him. “I thought you’d like the idea or I wouldn’t have suggested it in the first place.”

“Oh I do,” Shizuo says. “It’s exciting to not be able to see you.” His hand slides from Izaya’s face and down against the line of his neck to trail the angle of collarbone to the top of his arm and over the flex of muscle there. “It’s like I’m seeing you for the first time all over again.”

“Yes,” Izaya says. “Almost like being with someone completely new, right?”

Shizuo’s teeth flash in another grin. “No,” he says, and he ducks in to press his mouth unerringly against Izaya’s. Izaya’s lashes flutter, his lips part; Shizuo’s hand presses to hold him steady against the heat of the other’s mouth while that touch trails against Izaya’s arm. By the time he pulls back Izaya has all but forgotten the idle cut of his question, has forgotten to focus on anything but the weight of Shizuo’s mouth against his and the easy possessiveness of Shizuo licking in and against him. “It’s exactly like being with you.”

Izaya closes his mouth and blinks in an attempt to draw himself back to the present. “Romantic,” he says, and Shizuo laughs in that soft dark range that he drops into whenever he’s deeply pleased. It makes Izaya smile in spite of himself, even with Shizuo’s touch still against his face to track the motion; he lifts his arm from under Shizuo’s hold to reach up and wrap his grip around the other’s wrist. “I asked for kinky sex, not tender confessions. Hurry up and tie me up.”

“Can’t you have both?” Shizuo twists his hand in Izaya’s to break the other’s grip with casual strength; Izaya would be irritated if he were actually trying to hold on, and if he weren’t already wholly occupied with the sensation of Shizuo pulling his arm out to its full extension and pinning his wrist down to the sheets. Shizuo’s not pulling hard, he’s being as gentle as he ever is with Izaya, like he thinks the other’s going to break for a strong gust of wind, but without his vision to guide him he misjudges the distance somewhat. Izaya can feel the ache of pleasurable pressure running up the whole of his arm, humming in his joints in time with the beat of his heart in his chest as Shizuo’s hold locks his wrist in place at the sheets before he reaches out to fumble for the rope Izaya drew under and around the bedframe before they began. The ache of it sets fire winding down Izaya’s spine and coiling deep in his belly, trembles strain against his legs tipped open around Shizuo’s knee between his thighs, and when Shizuo lifts his arm so he can wind the trailing end of the rope around it Izaya doesn’t make the least attempt to break free.

“Tell me when it’s tight enough,” Shizuo says as the coils of smooth rope catch to a painless grip against the delicate bones of Izaya’s wrist. “I don’t want to bruise you.” He tugs against the loose end and the whole of the wrapping tightens close against Izaya’s skin; Izaya can feel his cock ache in answer to the press of the friction like a stand-in for the hold of Shizuo’s fingers on his skin. “How’s that?”

Izaya swallows to clear some measure of the heat from his voice before he attempts an answer. “That’s no good, senpai.” He tugs against the restraint, flexing his arm with careful intent to pull the slack taut with seeming unconcern. “I’ll be out of this in a matter of minutes.”

“Uh huh,” Shizuo says with such skepticism on his tone that Izaya knows his attempt to be a failure as quickly as he offered it. “Fine. If you won’t tell me…” as his fingers slide down Izaya’s arm to the other’s shoulder, his touch measuring the flex of the other’s body more than lingering over the friction of his skin. Izaya can’t help but tense against the slide of Shizuo’s touch, his body flexing in answer to the contact in spite of his attempts to seem blasé, but Shizuo’s mouth doesn’t turn down into a frown in any case. He presses his palm to Izaya’s shoulder, weighting against the joint as he tugs against the loop of the rope in his other hold; for a moment Izaya feels the strength of his body laid out against Shizuo’s, feels the whole helpless vulnerability of his position like fire in his veins. But there’s no pain, no bruising pull, just steady consideration for a moment as Shizuo gauges Izaya’s position by touch more than sight; and then he’s drawing his hand away and coming back up to the other’s wrist.

“It’s too tight at your skin,” he says, making the declaration as his fingers draw against Izaya’s wrist to measure the gap between rope and bone. “Hang on.” Izaya would protest the loosening against his hand -- he doesn’t want to be able to work himself free of the bonds, that entirely defeats the purpose they are meant to serve -- but he’s still caught up in the open line of his arm stretched out towards the edge of the bed, and by the time he’s getting his breath back Shizuo has tied off the rope into a loose loop that wraps close against Izaya’s wrist. “The other one too.”

Izaya stretches his fingers out to touch against the taut line of the rope binding his wrist up and over his head to form a diagonal across the sheets; if he lifts his head he can look up to see it while Shizuo is shifting over him and reaching to touch his other arm and follow the line of it up to his shoulder. “It’s too loose,” he complains. Shizuo’s hand settles against his shoulder to hold him steady; Izaya lets his arm go slack in capitulation to the urging of Shizuo’s hold at his wrist stretching his arm to its full extension. “I’m going to get free of this, you need to tighten it.”

“It’ll leave a bruise if I make it tighter,” Shizuo says without any trace of hesitation in his tone. Izaya looks back to the other’s expression but with the dark of the blindfold over Shizuo’s eyes all he can see is the attention at the other’s mouth as Shizuo slides a knee up over the bed to brace himself so he can find his way to the second loose end of the rope up at the top corner of the sheets. “If you want me to tie you up then I’m going to do it my way.”

“Sure,” Izaya says. Shizuo cinches the rope tight around his second wrist, moving faster this time as if he’s following the memory of the first with the pads of his fingers instead of the clarity of vision; for a moment the rope is pressing hard against his skin before Shizuo touches the line of it and lets a little of the tension out. “You’re not going to enjoy having me spread out for your use at _all_.”

“I never said that,” Shizuo says, his voice perfectly level as he ties off the second knot. “Don’t be a brat, Izaya.”

“I can’t help it,” Izaya informs him. “If I stopped you might not recognize me.”

Shizuo lifts a hand to reach for Izaya’s face; his fingers brush the line of the other’s nose before he reorients to press his palm close against Izaya’s jawline. When he leans in his shadow falls over Izaya’s face, eclipsing the other into his presence as he fits both hands to bracket Izaya’s jaw; Izaya’s breath catches as much at the curve of Shizuo’s smile as at the weight of Shizuo’s touch at his skin.

“I would know you anywhere, Izaya” and Shizuo is ducking in to kiss against the give of Izaya’s mouth again. Izaya’s arms flex on the brief, instinctive desire to reach for Shizuo’s hair, to wind his fingers into the bleached-gold of the strands and urge him in closer; but his wrists catch against the loose loops of rope, his shoulders strain without winning any give from the restraints spreading his arms wide across the bed. Izaya can feel his whole body tense for a moment, as his shoulders and arms and chest all draw taut against the sudden, starbright awareness of his own vulnerability: but Shizuo is purring against his mouth, and Shizuo’s fingers are sliding down against his chest, and Izaya’s tension is quivering out of him in time with the shiver of response that rises to meet Shizuo’s touch.

“You’re tied down already,” Shizuo observes, murmuring the words against Izaya’s mouth as his touch trails the line of the other’s body and down to track against the angle of his hip. “You can’t move at all, can you?”

Izaya presses his lips together to swallow hard. He’s trying to manage it silently, but he’s sure Shizuo can feel the motion thrum through him even if it goes unheard. “I’m at your mercy, senpai.”

Shizuo hums a low note in the back of his throat. “So it would seem,” he says. He ducks his head and slides down by an handful of inches; Izaya’s head tips back in answer to the warmth of Shizuo exhaling against his collarbones and the feel as of liquid spilling down and across his skin. “I could just take off the blindfold entirely if I wanted to.”

“That’s true,” Izaya says. He shudders over an exhale and lets himself fall slack over the bed as he casts his gaze down to where Shizuo is leaning over the rapid pant of his breathing in his chest. “You’d get to see me laid out for the taking.” He slides a foot wider on the bed and lets his hips angle up slightly. “For _your_ taking.”

“Hmm.” Shizuo ducks his head; his mouth presses against Izaya’s chest, off-center from the midpoint of his ribcage. “I think I’ll keep it on, just the same.”

Izaya huffs a breath. “You _are_ pretending I’m someone else.”

“No,” Shizuo says, without heat but with speed enough to carry the edge of frustration all the same. “I’m appreciating the process.” His hand slides down from Izaya’s waist to catch at the top edge of the other’s pants; Izaya’s catching a breath even before Shizuo’s fingers slide across to weight against the button at the front. “It’s exciting to find my way when I have to do it in the dark.” His fingers fumble with the cloth; Izaya couldn’t help him even if he wanted to, but he wouldn’t even if his arms weren’t pinned flat to the bed. There’s something satisfying about the clumsiness of Shizuo’s movements, something that reminds him of their first times together, when unfettered desire kept Shizuo from pulling away long enough to watch what he was doing, when buttons were more likely to tear free of their threads than to obediently fall open. There’s no damage this time -- for all his uncertainty Shizuo’s not pulling hard against Izaya’s clothes -- but the echo is enough to ache heat into the heartbeat of flushed-full desire holding Izaya hard against the inside of his pants.

“Besides.” Shizuo feels his way to the pull of Izaya’s zipper; the weight of his touch presses the inside seam against Izaya’s cock and jerks a moment of strain against Izaya’s thighs, but Shizuo is pulling down without pausing over the obvious reaction and without looking up to let Izaya see the smile audible on his voice. “I promised you I wouldn’t.” Izaya’s pants fall open and Shizuo’s hands come up to pin him down to the bed for a moment before trailing down to follow the line of his hips in and under pants and briefs alike. “I can’t break a promise to my cute kouhai.”

“No?” Izaya’s neck is aching from craning his head down so he can watch Shizuo move; even then, with the angle of the other’s head, all he can see is the tangled waves of Shizuo’s hair and none of the details of his expression. “You really _are_ a good senpai. He’s lucky to have you.”

Shizuo wraps his fingers in under Izaya’s clothes and pulls to urge them off the other’s hips and down his thighs. “Maybe,” he says. Izaya lifts his feet to ease the drag of the fabric coming down and off him; Shizuo pulls the clothing free of one foot and then the other before letting Izaya’s clothing fall to the floor so he can reach out and catch the other’s ankles with both hands. “I think I’m pretty lucky to have him, myself.”

“I don’t know,” Izaya says. Shizuo pushes his legs apart and he lets the motion spread his knees wide without trying to fight it; for a moment Shizuo is left kneeling between his calves, Izaya’s legs angled open to the spread of his arms pinning the other’s legs down against the bed. Izaya’s skin prickles with the thought of how they must look, of how _he_ looks, spread out across the bed as if to make a show of the whole expanse of his skin at once; but Shizuo’s head is ducked down, and that blindfold is still cutting through the pale of his hair, and there’s no one to see Izaya except what the other’s imagination can conjure. Shizuo lets his hold on one of Izaya’s ankles go so he can turn to the other side and reach out to find the end of the rope hanging loose at the edge of the bed; Izaya doesn’t move to bring his leg in closer any more than he lets his head drop back so he can stare at the ceiling instead of at Shizuo holding his leg down. “Don’t you always say he’s a brat?”

Shizuo snorts. “Yeah,” he says. “He has this habit of begging for compliments when I’m already trying to tell him how much I love him.” Izaya’s foot comes up off the bed as Shizuo pulls at his calf; the smooth texture of the rope catches to a loop around the bone of his ankle. “And he argues with me on every point even then.” Shizuo pulls the rope tight; Izaya can feel the pressure of the force tug against his opposite arm, where his fingers are curling to brace against the taut line of the rope running up around the bed under him. “Is that too tight?”

Izaya can feel the strain of the position in the whole of his body, thrumming against his spine and flexing the muscles of his thigh and tightening his fingers to brace at the rope under his hand. He shakes his head and speaks as calmly as he can. “Of course not. Take in another inch at least.”

Shizuo frowns and presses a hand against the inside of Izaya’s leg. His fingers slide up against the line of the other’s body, his touch trailing attention as he goes; Izaya can feel himself trembling in spite of his attempts to repress the reaction even before Shizuo huffs an exhale and pulls back to unwind a loop of the rope around Izaya’s ankle.

Izaya rolls his eyes up towards the head of the bed. “Come _on_ , Shizuo, there’s no point in tying me up at all if there’s that much slack in the rope.”

“I’m not going to bruise you,” Shizuo says without pausing where he’s knotting off the rope at Izaya’s ankle. “You’ll be glad for it later.”

“Wanna bet?” Izaya kicks sideways to knock the heel of his unbound foot hard against Shizuo’s hip. “You’re taking all my fun away before we’ve even got started.”

Shizuo’s hand closing around Izaya’s ankle is gentle, unhurried by any sign of frustration, but his grip is no less unshakeable for that. “We’ve started,” he says. He turns sideways and reaches to touch his free hand against the inside of Izaya’s thigh, holding the contact as if to gauge the other’s reaction as he pulls Izaya’s leg out wide on the bed; Izaya can feel the pleasant heat of the strain running up his spine like it’s connecting directly to the force in Shizuo’s unflinching hold at his skin. “We’re both going to have fun like this.”

“Are you so sure?” Izaya asks. Shizuo lifts his hand from Izaya’s thigh so he can reach for the loose end of rope at the end of the bed; Izaya has to fight back the impulse to whimper at the loss of the contact, even for such an excellent cause as Shizuo winding the rope around his ankle to hold him flat to the bed. He takes a breath instead, filling his lungs with deliberate intent before he lets his voice catch onto put-upon pleading. “Do you promise to take care of me, senpai?”

Shizuo’s smile comes with a huff of a breath that would be a laugh if it were a little louder. He pulls the last knot tight against Izaya’s ankle and lifts his chin, angling his head to the side to follow Izaya’s speech by hearing instead of sound. “I promise,” he says. “You’ll have a good time.”

Izaya heaves a dramatic sigh. It conveys his resignation admirably, he thinks; it also helps dispel some of the tension of anticipation building against the inside of his chest and prickling against his spine every time he flexes against the knots holding his arms up, every time he shifts his knee and feels the pressure of his current position hum up the inside of his leg. “Well,” he says. “I’m not about to argue with that.”

“It’s a historic event,” Shizuo says. He shifts against the end of the bed to turn in and face Izaya properly again, even with the blindfold covering his vision to darkness; when he reaches out his fingers land against Izaya’s thigh, high up by the crease to the other’s hip. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

“I’d be feeling better if you were doing more than trying to stare through that blindfold at me,” Izaya tells him. “Seeing as I’m a little tied up at the moment and you have two hands free, you really ought to take pity on me and help me out.”

Shizuo is still smiling. “You _did_ ask to be tied up,” he says, but his hand is sliding up and against Izaya’s hip and Izaya’s not about to argue with anything that brings more of Shizuo’s palm flush against his skin. “You brought this on yourself.”

“I bring a lot of things on myself,” Izaya says. “That’s why I need my favorite senpai there to bail me out when I get into trouble.”

“Uh huh,” Shizuo says. “Have you ever considered not getting into trouble in the first place?”

“Now where would be the fun in that?” Izaya asks. “You certainly wouldn’t have your boyfriend tied up and entirely at your mercy, and what a loss that would be.”

That gets an outright laugh from Shizuo. “That’s true,” he says. His hand presses against Izaya’s stomach, his fingers trail in over the flutter of tension at the other’s skin; Izaya has to fight to keep from rocking his hips up to buck towards the friction of Shizuo’s sleeve, and even then he doesn’t entirely succeed in repressing the urge. “I really _can_ do whatever I want to you, can’t I?”

“Promises, promises,” Izaya drawls. “Maybe I should have covered your mouth instead of your eyes, if you were just going to talk instead of tou--” and Shizuo draws his hand down all at once, angling his thumb wide to catch around the base of Izaya’s hot-flushed cock, and Izaya’s breath goes to incoherence in his throat as fast as Shizuo’s fingers curl in around him. He does buck up then, his legs flexing hard to rock him up over the few inches of motion he can win from his awkward position across the bed, but the ropes wound around his wrists and ankles keep him from much movement and Shizuo hardly seems aware of the action in any case. He’s moving at a pace entirely of his own making, stroking up over Izaya’s length with an easy strength that Izaya can feel radiating heat all the way up his spine, and there’s no interruption to his rhythm from Izaya’s movement or groan of satisfaction either one.

“Wow,” Shizuo says. His voice is dropping down into the depths of his chest to hum resonance against the air; Izaya can hear the smile under the sound without needing to lift his head to see it. “I can hear you so much better like this.” His hand twists and Izaya’s head goes back in time with the moan that breaks free from his lips; his legs flex and go slack against the bed as tension bleeds off into surrender to the friction Shizuo is working over him. “You really are tense, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t be if you hadn’t kept me waiting so long,” Izaya informs him, tipping his chin down to fix Shizuo with the best approximation of a glare he can offer. He’s sure it falls far short of the mark -- his whole body is going radiant with heat that he can’t think to restrain -- but Shizuo can’t see him anyway, and it’s the principle that matters more than anything else.

His tone doesn’t have any more effect than his glare. “I like it when you get desperate,” Shizuo tells him. “It’s good to have you languid and overheated too but if all I can do is feel you--” as his hand comes out to touch against Izaya’s thigh and press to hold the other down to the bed, “--this isn’t half bad.”

“I’m glad you approve,” Izaya tells him. “Are you planning to just tie me down and get me off, then, or do you have more plans than that in mind?”

Shizuo hums a low sound in the back of his throat. “I hadn’t decided,” he says. “I _could_ just jerk you off like this and listen to the sounds you make.” His hand slides, his fingers work; for a moment Izaya can do nothing but pull against the restraints binding his arms and legs down to the bed, feeling himself laid open and vulnerable for the play of Shizuo’s fingers against him. The ropes are loose enough to give him a few inches of motion before he runs up against them, to let him shift without straining the muscles of his arms and legs, but they’re unbreakable for all that, as certain as the gentle curl of Shizuo’s fingers against his cock or the weight of Shizuo’s hand pushing him down against the bed. He can’t get himself free, not without using his safeword to break them out of the moment; the thought makes his stomach dip like it’s going into freefall, makes his heart speed in his chest as his breathing catches to heat. Shizuo could just jerk him off, could stroke up over Izaya and leave him to struggle futile desperation against his bonds until he shudders into orgasm under Shizuo’s fully-dressed attentions; Shizuo could leave him there after, even, sprawled out over the sheets and trembling with aftershocks of pleasure until the other saw fit to free him. The idea makes Izaya’s skin go hot with hypothetical embarrassment, makes his fingers curl in against the ropes stretching up around the frame of the bed; and it makes his cock twitch hot in Shizuo’s hold in a giveaway too instinctive for him to think of restraint.

Shizuo huffs another laugh. His smile looks darker in the shadow of the blindfold. “I thought you might like that,” he says, and then he ducks his head down and draws his hand up and free. Izaya’s hips jerk, he whimpers in the back of his throat as his fingers curl towards fists, but he can’t sit up to grab at Shizuo, can’t drag the other back down; all he can do is watch as Shizuo rocks back over the end of the bed to pull away and get to his feet.

“Just stay there for a minute,” Shizuo says, as if there’s anything else Izaya could do at the moment even if he wanted to. “I’ll be right back.” And he’s turning aside, moving to pace carefully across the room without even waiting for Izaya’s response. Izaya’s shoulders flex, his arms pulling reflexive motion against the restraints around his wrists, but the knots that seemed so loose when Shizuo tied them hold steady, and they’re set at the backs of his wrists where he can’t even think of shifting his fingers around to work against them. He can only catch a glimpse of them, when he turns his head up to look over the span of the sheets, and with the flex of his body pinned down there’s no point in even thinking of working himself free. He’s trapped where he is, spread out over the bed to await Shizuo’s use, in whatever form that takes, and Izaya can feel his cheeks heat into color, can feel his breath catching faster in his chest as his fingers curl for a bracing grip he can’t win for himself.

“Still there?” Shizuo asks, and Izaya jumps to look back at the other before he remembers the blindfold that is serving to restrain the other’s vision. The dark line of fabric is still in place, Izaya sees as he looks, and Shizuo’s not turning to look at him; he has his head cocked to the side instead so he can angle his ear towards Izaya rather than make the useless attempt of vision past the burden of the blindfold on him. “You haven’t worked yourself free of those knots yet, have you?”

“Why don’t you come over and find out?” Izaya suggests, instead of admitting that he’s well and truly restrained. “You could check them all by hand just to be sure.”

Shizuo’s smile comes in a flash of white teeth flickering at his lips as he turns back towards the dresser that he’s standing before. “I just might,” he says. Izaya can’t see the motion of the drawer from where he’s lying on the bed but he can hear the drag of it, can make out the clatter of objects within rattling under Shizuo’s searching fingertips, and besides he knows what the other is looking for without needing the instruction of a statement. His thighs flex on instinct, his hips rock up in reflexive pursuit of friction he’s unlikely to find from the open air above him, but Shizuo is ducking in anyway, his head tipped forward on the habit of vision as he works open the bottle Izaya is sure he’s holding. “Let me make sure I’m ready for it first.”

“Better hurry up,” Izaya says. “You have no idea what kind of trouble I could be getting up to unsupervised.” He shifts one foot to pull against the loop of smooth cord wrapped around his ankle, but if the rope is loose around the joint it’s far too tight for him to work his heel past it, no matter how he points his toes and drags against the resistance. “I could have a knife hidden away somewhere and be cutting these nice ropes even as we speak.”

Shizuo tips his head back as if he’s looking over his shoulder at Izaya. “A knife,” he repeats. “Where exactly would you be hiding this?”

Izaya tips his chin down and flutters his lashes, offering the sketch of flirtation even knowing Shizuo can’t see the gesture. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he purrs. “You need to be more thorough about your search, Shizu-chan, you never know what I might have up my sleeve.”

“Even when you’re not wearing any?” Shizuo asks, but he’s turning back all the same, bumping against the open dresser drawer to slide it back into place before he picks his careful way back across the floor to where Izaya is lying across the bed. The light catches off the slick coating the fingers of his left hand, which he holds up and clear of the bed as he returns to press a knee to the mattress between Izaya’s spread-open legs so he can come back to his previous position. When he reaches out his fingers find Izaya’s thigh first, his palm slides in to press to the smooth of the other’s skin before he urges up against the line of the other’s hip. “All that talk and you’re still right where I left you.”

“Maybe I’ve traded places,” Izaya suggests. His thighs are taut on strain; he doesn’t try to resist the impulse to buck up towards the weight of Shizuo’s hand against him, to let the upward curve of his body speak to the want hot within him. “I could have a body double take my place and you would never know the difference.”

“You think I wouldn’t know the difference?” Shizuo says, growling the words to mock frustration as his mouth tenses on the pressure of a smile. “I would know you anywhere, Izaya.” His hand slides across Izaya’s hip, his fingers spreading wide over the flat of the other’s stomach to smooth over the tension fluttering through Izaya’s body. “Your sharp hips. The soft of your skin.” His hand slides down, his fingers skim Izaya’s cock, and when Izaya groans and bucks up Shizuo clasps his hold around the other, his fingers tightening close against Izaya’s length as he rumbles over an exhale that sounds as hot as a purr in the back of his throat. “The way you fit in my hand.” His grip pulls up, working over Izaya for a stroke of friction before he slides back down to tighten the gentle pressure of his too-strong hold against the other’s length. “You’re always so hot when I touch you, Izaya.”

Izaya huffs a breath. “That’s not the only thing you should touch,” he says, speaking himself into teasing since his position leaves him unable to act upon it. “Why don’t you put that free hand to good use while you’re making sure of me, senpai?”

“I’m always sure of you,” Shizuo tells him, not sounding the least embarrassed at putting words to this affection, but he’s moving in alignment with Izaya’s suggestion all the same, reaching to fit his other hand between the angle of other’s thighs as he maintains the gentle pressure of his grip squeezing against Izaya’s cock. Izaya jerks at the brush of Shizuo’s thumb against the inside of his thigh, his whole body trembling with the sensation so close to where he wants it, but Shizuo doesn’t fumble in this at all, however careful he was over stripping Izaya’s clothes from him and binding his wrists and ankles to the bed. His fingers find Izaya’s entrance at once, with as instant precision as if he’s following the urging of a magnet pulling their bodies together, and when Izaya frees a groaning exhale Shizuo meets him without waiting for the invitation to angle his hand and slide the length of one reaching finger up and into him in a single decisive motion. Izaya tenses around him, instinct and appreciation combining to clench tight around Shizuo’s action, but Shizuo’s already inside him, the whole length of his middle finger as deep within Izaya’s body as he can reach.

“God,” Shizuo groans, his voice dropping off the edge that it topples over whenever he has Izaya under his hands, whenever Izaya is quaking with the anticipated sensation of heat to come. He draws his finger back by an inch, a tiny motion just to give himself the space to thrust in again, to draw another reflexive tightening from Izaya around him. “You feel _amazing_ , Izaya.”

“Do you recognize that?” Izaya asks, forcing himself into the outline of coherency when he feels nothing of the sort. “Could you know me from the way I feel around your fingers, Shizu-chan?” His legs strain again; this time he pulls at the bonds looping around his feet, flexing at the resistance to urge himself down the bed fractionally and sink himself deeper onto Shizuo’s touch. “Would you know it was me just from this, senpai?”

“I would,” Shizuo says, growling over the words in the back of his throat. “You’re so hot, Izaya, you open so easy.” His touch draws back to press up into Izaya’s body again, and Izaya’s shoulders flex, his breath shudders out of his lungs as Shizuo’s fingertip presses in against him to urge clenching heat through the whole of his body. “You like it right here, every time. And you always want more.” Shizuo barely draws his hand back at all, this time, before there’s the press of another finger against Izaya’s body to urge in alongside the first. Izaya gusts a breath and lets himself go slack over the bed, opening for Shizuo’s touch with greedy haste, and Shizuo strokes up into him as quickly, seeking out the knot of want within the other as fast as he can slide the span of his coupled fingers into the give of Izaya’s body around him. “As fast as I can give it, every time.”

“I do,” Izaya says, and doesn’t care that his voice is straining, that Shizuo will be able to hear the heat on it even if he can’t see the color staining Izaya’s cheeks to vivid scarlet. “I do, senpai, I want it, please.” He pulls against the cords binding his wrists, straining his shoulders and back in a futile attempt to slip himself free, but all he does is tighten around Shizuo’s touch to spike the sensation of the other’s fingers moving into him the higher in his awareness. “Senpai, Shizu-chan, give me more, _please_.”

Shizuo huffs a laugh. “That sounds just like you,” he says, and goes on stroking as he shifts his fingers apart to urge Izaya a little wider, to ease him a little further open around the other’s touch. “I have to tie you down just to take things slow.” He slows his rhythm, drawing his touch back with careful grace before he urges back in; Izaya has a moment of fullness, a moment of blissful strain as he tightens around Shizuo’s fingers, before the other pulls back again to strip it from him once more. “I could keep you here like this all day, if I wanted.”

Izaya groans in the back of his throat. “It’s already _been_ all day,” he complains. “You’re going to kill me like this, senpai, not all of us have your inhuman constitution.” He frames his lips to a pout and cranes his neck to look down at Shizuo kneeling between his open legs. “Don’t you _want_ me, Shizu-chan?”

Shizuo snorts a laugh. “Are you back to this again?” he asks. “I’ve spent every day since we met trying to answer that question to your satisfaction.”

“My satisfaction is fleeting,” Izaya tells him. “I always want more.” He tips his knees open as wide as he can; it’s not much movement, but with Shizuo as close as he is Izaya is sure it at least carries the gesture of what he wants to convey, even tied down as he is. “Please, senpai, I need a _thorough_ reminder.”

“You’re insatiable,” Shizuo says, but he frames the words around a smile, and when he moves it’s to stroke forward with some part of speed again, with enough force behind his fingers that Izaya shudders at the bed and moans answer in the back of his throat. “Is this what you want, Izaya?”

“Yes,” Izaya says, too anxious with want to play coy for even a breath. “Yes, _please_ senpai, I’m at your mercy.”

“As long as my mercy is fast enough?” Shizuo asks. He’s smiling as he strokes into Izaya, the motion of his fingers strong enough to rock Izaya back fractionally against the bed and slide over the hold Shizuo has against the length of his cock. “I can do what I want to you as long as it’s what you want too?”

“Exactly,” Izaya says. “It _is_ what you want, isn’t it?” He digs his heels into the bed beneath him, bracing himself as well as he can so he can arch his hips up to meet the stroke of Shizuo’s fingers working into him. “You know how much I like this. You can feel it all around you.” He clenches down deliberately against Shizuo’s fingers, letting the sensation of the other’s motion ripple through him in a wave to tighten around the pressure within him. “I know you’re hard. I can _see_ you’re hard. Don’t you want to shove your hands against my thighs and lay me open for you? You can’t see me but you’ll be able to feel me, you can sink your cock into me and feel me coming around you, hear me screaming your name, Shizu-chan, _senpai_ , _ah_ , god, _please_ \--”

“Fuck,” Shizuo blurts, sharp and clear, and he’s sliding his fingers back before Izaya can even collect himself back from the rising note of heat in his throat that is only partially a deliberate show of his own arousal. The loss is immediate, a dull ache that Izaya can feel bearing down deep in his belly and just over the line of his hips, but Shizuo is reaching for the front of his pants even before he slides off the end of the bed and Izaya can’t complain when what he wants is so clearly in sight. Shizuo fumbles open his belt and slacks, head ducked down as if to watch what he’s doing as he maneuvers through loosening the button and dragging the zipper down, and he turns to his shirt as soon as his slacks are sliding free, lifting his head so he can push the buttons loose down the front of his shirt as he kicks to free first one and then the other leg from his slacks. Izaya can see the strain of his cock at the front of his boxers, can see the fabric tenting steeply over the heat of the other’s arousal, and he’s spilling encouragement as quickly as Shizuo gets the buttons of his shirt undone.

“Come on,” he says, “Come on, come on Shizuo, I want it, I want you, I’m _desperate_ for you, you have me laid out and waiting, just _take_ me” as Shizuo frees the last button on his shirt and drops his hands to push at the waistband of his boxers instead of bothering with getting the shirt off his shoulders. Izaya pulls at the cords around his wrists as Shizuo’s underwear comes free to leave his cock bare and whimpers a note of helpless pleading in his throat as the knots hold as tight as ever. “ _Shizuo_.”

“I know,” Shizuo growls. “I know, hang on” but he’s returning faster than he left, without bothering with shrugging out of his unbuttoned shirt or peeling off his undershirt. One hand lands next to Izaya’s hip, pressing hard enough to the mattress to tip Izaya to the side in answer as the other fumbles for his leg and lands at the angle of his knee before sliding up along the curve of his thigh. Shizuo curls his hand in under Izaya to brace the other’s weight against him, and when he lifts Izaya’s hips come off the bed entirely, lifted free of the sheets by the casual grip of those fingers against him to make space for Shizuo to slide a knee in under him and keep him there. Izaya is left canted up, his legs spread open and held up by Shizuo kneeling beneath him, before Shizuo draws his hand up to rest at the top of Izaya’s leg, just at the crease of his hip. His head is ducked forward, his hair falling heavy over the dark line of the blindfold covering his eyes, but Izaya can still see the focus in his expression just from the unthinking soft of his mouth and the set of his jaw as he shifts to fit himself in place. Shizuo tips himself forward, his hand tightens at the top of Izaya’s leg to hold the other in place, and then he rocks himself in against the support of the other’s body, and Izaya’s head angles back against the sheets, his throat tightening on the strain of a moan as the head of Shizuo’s cock breaches the tension of his eased-open body.

It’s overwhelming for the first moment. It always is, no matter how many times Shizuo urges Izaya to the bed, or Izaya lowers himself onto the other’s hips, or they fumble themselves into desperate satisfaction against a wall, or a window, or whatever other flat surface they can find. Izaya had wondered, at first, if he wouldn’t grow accustomed to it, if the strain of Shizuo’s length sinking into his body wouldn’t become easier with repetition; but whatever ease experience has given him isn’t enough to undo that first surge of intensity that always breaks over him, that shudders down his spine like an extended premonition of the relief to come. Shizuo aches within him, stretching to the cusp of pain and sliding deeper than his fingers ever reach; and Izaya wishes for freedom for his hands, wishes the use of his legs to reach up and draw Shizuo down to bury himself in him the sooner. He moans instead, letting the heat of the friction working into him have voice at his lips as he shudders against the tension tying him down and holding him open, and over him Shizuo’s shoulders hunch forward, his body curves in to shadow Izaya’s beneath him as he gasps a breath of unfiltered relief.

“Izaya,” Shizuo breathes, the other’s name coming past his lips with all the raw sincerity of heat, of satisfaction too immediate to be borne in silence. His hips come forward, their bodies pressing together as close as they can be, and when his hand lifts from Izaya’s trembling thigh it’s to reach out instead, to seek and slide against the line of the other’s cheek. Izaya tips his head up to look at Shizuo, to see the shift of the other’s mouth, the starstruck appreciation clear in his expression even with his eyes covered. “I love you.”

“I know,” Izaya says. “Fuck me, Shizuo.”

Shizuo breaks into a huffing laugh, his fingers push up into Izaya’s hair to ruffle through the strands. “I love that about you too,” he says, and lifts his hand from the bed to clasp at Izaya’s hip, to brace the other steady over his lap before he draws back over his knees and brackets the other’s body between both hands at once. “You’re always so impatient.” And he rocks back, his thighs flexing on unreal strength to tip backwards and thrust forward, and any protest or agreement Izaya might have intended to give fractures into a groan that pulls itself free of his throat as Shizuo drives forward and into him. His fingers curl towards his palms, his arms strain against the pull of the cord around them, but the rope holds steady, pinning him as entirely in place as the unbreakable grip of Shizuo’s thumbs over his hips and Shizuo’s fingers digging in against the curve of his ass. Shizuo moves again, thrusting to the full depth Izaya’s tilted hips grant him, and Izaya quivers in helpless surrender to the friction working into him.

“You have such good ideas,” Shizuo says, his voice only a very little rough in his throat as he works into Izaya, as he finds a steady rhythm for the shift of his hips and the flex of his thighs. Izaya can feel the tension of Shizuo’s action a moment before it breaks over him, telegraphed from the work of the other’s thighs pressing close under his own, but he can no more lean into it than he can rock away, can do nothing at all to respond. All that is left to him is to lie where he is, open and held and taken by Shizuo over him, and to moan through the unflinching wash of heat that follows Shizuo’s length stroking deep within the give of his body. “Next time you should tie me up and we’ll put the blindfold on you.”

“It’s no good,” Izaya gasps, struggling for coherency against the flickering electricity behind the weight of his lashes. “You’ll just tear through the rope as soon as -- _ah_ \-- as soon as I’m on top of you.”

“Mm,” Shizuo hums, down in the deepest range of his voice, where he goes when he’s truly furious or when pleasure is eclipsing the brighter emotional heights. “You think I forget everything as soon as I’m inside you?”

“I know you do,” Izaya says. “Animal instinct takes over and all I can do is hope to ride it out.”

“You _are_ good at that,” Shizuo tells him, sounding more amused than angry. “Is that what you’re doing now?”

“As best I can,” Izaya says. “It’s--it’s harder, like this.” He manages a laugh around the knot of heat tightening in his throat. “I don’t have many options available to me.”

“You could just relax.” Shizuo eases his hold on Izaya’s hips, loosening the grip of his fingers so he can slide his palms up instead to drag friction against the dip of the other’s waist. “Appreciate the moment.”

Izaya fixes his gaze on Shizuo’s face: the fall of his hair, the soft of his mouth, the flush of heat across his cheeks. “You’re saying I should just let things happen?” he asks. “Let you have your way with me?”

Shizuo smiles. “You’ll enjoy yourself,” he says. His hands slide up farther. “I promise.”

Izaya hums, as if he’s thinking over the question, as if he really has a choice. “Alright,” he finally says, as hesitantly as if he’s granting a major concession. “I’m putting myself in your hands, senpai. I hope you’ll take responsibility.”

Shizuo huffs a laugh as warm as it is amused. “I will,” he says, and he leans forward to cast Izaya in his shadow, sliding one arm in and around the other’s back while he reaches out with the other to brace over the line of Izaya’s shoulder. Izaya turns in against Shizuo’s arm, tipping his head to press against the support of the other’s forearm, and when Shizuo pulls at his back Izaya arches up obediently, letting his body be drawn into a curve under the urging of Shizuo’s grip. Shizuo draws a breath, and sets himself to steadiness over the bed, and when he moves again Izaya lets his lungs empty onto a groan, lets his body shudder with the reflexive heat of sensation without trying to hold it back or restrain himself to speech. Shizuo’s lips part, his fingers tighten, and when he moves again there’s intention in the action, a focus behind the tilt of his hips and the flex of his thighs that Izaya can feel translate to raw pressure down in the depths of his belly. Izaya’s legs tighten, his lashes dip, and as Shizuo goes on moving he lets his attention give way, lets his focus melt out of his keeping. His shoulders ease, his legs relax, and the whole of his body surrenders to Shizuo’s hold, his back and his legs and even his breathing falling into sync with the other’s motion more than Izaya’s thought. His cock is throbbing, twitching in time with Shizuo’s motion into him and the ache of desire spreading out to fit itself into the capitulation of every part of his body, but Izaya doesn’t arch up in a plea for more, doesn’t beg Shizuo to give him the contact that he’s sure would bring him spilling into orgasm just for the weight of a thumb sliding against the underside of his length. He just accepts, letting Shizuo take him, letting himself be borne along on the tide of the other’s movement until his fingers are trembling against the restraints at his wrists, until his toes are prickling numb with the rush of blood settling itself at his thighs and belly and cock.

“God,” Shizuo says, breathing the word into heat where he’s tipped in so close over Izaya the open edges of his shirt are skimming the bare line of the other’s chest. “Izaya, I.” Shizuo ducks down over Izaya’s shoulder, moving on instinct instead of intention with his eyes covered; his mouth lands at the curve of the other’s shoulder to press affection that loses nothing for the unstructured warmth of the contact. “You feel so…”

Izaya presses his lips together. It takes conscious effort to swallow himself into clarity, and more to find words for speech. “I think…” Shizuo’s hips move into him; his foot arches, his toes curling tight as his thigh flexes and trembles on the cusp of a cramp. “I’m going to come, senpai.”

Shizuo turns his head at Izaya’s skin, groans a breath at Izaya’s chest. “I want to see,” he blurts. “I want to see you, Izaya, I want to watch you come for me.”

Izaya’s lashes flutter. “So watch,” he says, feeling dreamy and sounding distracted. “Take off the blindfold, Shizu-chan.”

Shizuo lifts his head from Izaya’s shoulder. “Can I?”

“Sure.” Shizuo rocks forward and something tightens all the way in the depths of Izaya’s belly, curling towards inevitability even as he watches it instead of reaching for it. “You...you should hurry, though.”

Shizuo moves at once, tipping to the side to lean against his elbow so he can free his bracing arm to reach and tear at the blindfold over his eyes. Izaya watches him, his attention as vague as his connection to his body; but that tension is building all the same, rising with a force he can’t fight back, now. It’s taking over him, drawing in from his slack fingers and numb toes and trembling breathing to collect in the core of him; and then the blindfold comes free, and Shizuo shakes his hair loose and turns to blink heat-startled attention down at Izaya before him. His forehead creases with the bright so sudden against his darkened vision, but his gaze fixes on Izaya without hesitation, his focus locking the other where he’s spread out over the bed, flushed and shaky and trembling at the cusp of pleasure. Shizuo’s mouth eases, his eyes go soft; against Izaya’s back his fingers slide into a caress.

“God, Izaya,” he says. “You’re so beautiful.” And his hips come forward, following out the rhythm he has been sustaining, and Izaya’s whole body draws together into a single point of anticipation. His mouth comes open on heat, his body clenches tight around Shizuo; and then pleasure surges through him, and his head tips back, his throat opening up onto a moan that rushes through him with the same helpless force that shakes through his arms and trembles in his legs. He’s coming over himself, his cock spilling spurts of heat with every convulsive tightening of sensation through him, and Shizuo is groaning, his motion spurred out-of-rhythm by Izaya tensing around him.

“Shizuo,” Izaya is gasping, “Shizuo, _Shizuo_ ” and Shizuo is leaning in over him, his arm around Izaya holding the other against his chest even as Izaya goes on shaking with aftershocks, as the movement of Shizuo pursuing his release draws his own long through the whole of his body. Izaya’s gripped in the force of his own pleasure, trembling too hard to hold to Shizuo, to urge him on; but he can’t move anyway, his surrender is something enforced as much as voluntary, and Shizuo is holding him close anyway, pressing them as near together as he can bring them as he works them into the greatest intimacy they can find. Izaya turns his head in against the side of Shizuo’s, gasping for air against the tangle of yellow hair, and Shizuo groans something wordless and needy into his shoulder and jerks forward to crest into his own orgasm. His cock spills heat, long pulses of relief to match those Izaya has laced over himself, and Izaya gasps a breath and lets himself go slack, surrendering to the relief of their shared pleasure as thoroughly as he gave himself over to Shizuo’s hold.

It’s a long time before Shizuo collects himself enough to move; or, at least, Izaya thinks it is. He’s in no position to track the passage of time; the most he can do is to lean against Shizuo next to him, and stare blankly at the ceiling, and feel the dull ache that follows on the heels of a spectacular orgasm throb through the entirety of his spent body. When Shizuo finally shifts to free his hand from bracing at the bed Izaya only moves to tip his head as Shizuo turns to look at what he’s doing; he doesn’t try to pull himself back together, even when the loop wound around his wrist falls slack under the pull of Shizuo’s fingers. Shizuo gives up his hold around Izaya’s waist to do the same on the other side but even then Izaya doesn’t bother moving; he just stays still, lying sprawled over the bed and slack with their mutual pleasure as Shizuo pushes himself up over his knees again. He does flinch as Shizuo eases out of him, more for the loss of the pressure to prove their connection than for the spill of sticky heat that follows against his thighs, but when Shizuo moves back to work on his ankle the most Izaya does is turn his head to watch the other’s movement. His second leg follows the first, the last point of restraint giving way to Shizuo’s fingers as if it’s not even there, and then Shizuo is coming back in, sliding forward onto his knees to lean over Izaya and touch a gentle hand to his face to smooth his hair back behind his ear.

“Are you okay?” Shizuo wants to know. “You look dazed.”

“Mm,” Izaya hums. “I’m excellent, Shizu-chan. Superb.” He lifts his arms over his head to stretch indulgently; Shizuo’s gaze slides down to follow the motion over his chest and across his heat-spattered stomach, and Izaya smiles before letting the tension in him go. “I feel entirely used.”

Shizuo snorts. “In a good way, I hope.”

“Very.” Izaya lifts one hand to touch at the back of Shizuo’s neck and drag pleasure-heavy fingertips against the weight of the other’s hair. “Are you going to take a shower?”

“I was planning on it,” Shizuo tells him. Izaya curls his hand into a fist at the back of Shizuo’s collar and lifts one leg to angle around the other’s hip; Shizuo reaches to slide his hand against Izaya’s thigh as a smile starts at his lips. “Do you want me to to take you with me?”

“What an excellent idea,” Izaya says in a tone of mock surprise as he loops his other leg around Shizuo to hold himself close against the other. “You always think of the best things, senpai.”

Shizuo’s hand comes up to cradle against Izaya’s waist. “You just like me to carry you around after sex.”

“It only seems fair,” Izaya says as Shizuo’s pull urges him up and against the span of the other’s chest so he can wind his arm close around Shizuo’s neck. “After all the satisfaction you take from me, don’t you think you should look after me at least a little?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Shizuo says, sounding warm and affectionate as Izaya knew he would.

Izaya smiles and turns his head in to nuzzle at the side of Shizuo’s neck. “And you love me.”

“I do,” Shizuo says. “Always.”

Izaya lifts his head to find the shape of Shizuo’s mouth without opening his eyes. Their mouths fit together with perfect ease, sliding in to shape to each other as if meant to settle there; it’s another long moment before Izaya draws back to take a breath and smile against Shizuo’s lips. “I love you too, Shizuo.”

“I know,” Shizuo says, and reaches to wrap his other arm around Izaya, tight enough to hold the other in close against him as he slides to the end of the bed and off. “Let’s go get cleaned up.” Izaya winds his arms around Shizuo’s neck, and turns his head to pillow at Shizuo’s shoulder, and lets the easy support of the other’s arm brace him as Shizuo gets to his feet to carry them both to the promise of a shower and the comfort of a bath.

Izaya is always more than happy to trust himself to Shizuo’s care.


End file.
